


soulmates

by ghostscribe



Series: ReGuri Week 2020 [7]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: FINALLY DONE ALL THESE PROMPTS I ALMOST CRIED WRITING THIS ONE, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Reunions, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26627764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostscribe/pseuds/ghostscribe
Summary: It’s worth it. This pilgrimage and its consequences, it’s worth it, if it’s for Green. It is worth ending this manufactured nightmare, this self imposed exile. He's easy to think about, easy to be around, so easy to love. Each day feels like a lucid dream when they're together, too good to be true and yet too real to be a fantasy.Red would like to dream in his waking hours again.
Relationships: Ookido Green | Blue Oak/Red
Series: ReGuri Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931590
Comments: 8
Kudos: 84





	soulmates

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of drabbles for this year's ReGuri week! The prompts can be found [here](https://reguridiscordserver.tumblr.com/post/627435884456919040/the-reguri-week-2020-prompts-have-been-chosen) if you're interested.  
> 

_Hey, Red._

_Mm?_

_We’re gonna be friends no matter what, right? ‘cause I really like you, and I wanna be friends forever and ever!_

_Mhm!_

_Good! Then let’s stick together!_

So this whole decision - this fiasco, this disappearing act, becoming a living ghost in this way - the whole event was never going to last. He’d set sail on this ship knowing it would wreck, saw the way the welding started to peel and he did nothing to fix it, nothing to stop it. A bridge built to fail, a nuclear reactor built to detonate. 

He’s not sure if he likes how the world looks below him. He sits back down in the snow, lets the wind envelop him. The weather is fair today, as far as Mt Silver’s weather goes. It’s an unusual occurrence, this powdery snow, gentle flakes kicked up from the drifts in a subtle wind that melt as soon as they touch his skin. It’s an omen, perhaps, this anomaly.

Perhaps he merely _wants_ it to be an omen. Perhaps he wants an out. Motivation. An excuse to stand back up.

The snowstorm wasn’t supposed to stop until the end of the week. He wonders if maybe, somehow, he ran out of time - he didn’t _lose_ _track_ of time, no, he wonders if the world decided _enough is enough, you’re stalling, either get out of here or don’t,_ enough _with your indecision._ He’s had it with himself too, honestly, but still, it’s louder down there, too much, too heavy, too many eyes, not enough hiding spots, and it’s why he’s stalled up here for as many years as he has. He remembers complaining about that world below, not enough privacy, too few hiding spots. 

It was always too hard to play hide and seek outside. 

_Just go behind some trees or in a bush or something! Come on, it’ll be fun!_

_There’s not enough trees…_

_You’re no fun! Whatever, I’ll hide first, let me show you how it’s done!_

Red has always followed Green’s lead. _Let me show you how it’s done,_ every time. 

Ironic, bitterly so, that Green fell behind. That he _lost._

Red stands, looks down at the world below him, sits down again on the frozen ground, permafrost never meant to feel the warmth of the sun, brilliantly coated in light but too far from the heat to ever melt. He felt the same way about Green, about the Champion’s throne, the whole nine yards. He was always close enough to Green to see him but even when he started winning battles, it felt impossible to ever really surpass Green. It felt unnecessary, anyway. The earth does not complain when it is cold, nor did Red ever complain when he couldn’t beat Green.

And then he did. He _won._

_You’re gonna be my rival, Red._

_I don’t get it._

_We have to battle each other! You gotta keep up with me - and I guess I gotta keep up with you, but it’s not like that’ll be hard, knowing you._

_Why can’t we just be friends?_

_That’s no use! You won’t get stronger with an attitude like that!_

Red stands. He recalls the last time Green came to visit. Green had said he told one of his last challengers _you gotta be good to your Pokémon, y’know. You can’t just catch a Pokémon without befriending it. You won’t get stronger with an attitude like that._

Red starts, stops, looks down at the world below. The scenery is blocked by the treeline as it nears him, or as he nears the trees. He struggles to tell what’s moving where. 

He turns back around. 

He hates this idea more and more with every passing second and every passing step. He can’t even think clearly, can’t coherently parse why he’s compelled to go down there. He doesn’t want to go back. He _knows_ he doesn’t want to go back. 

He just wants _Green,_ but Green hasn’t been visiting as often, and Red is feeling stir-crazy. He is homesick for someone he would call home. 

He’s lived on Mt Silver for this long. He can’t be so weak now. 

_You can’t be so weak now, Red! We’re just getting started!_

He mustered the strength to pack his things and trek down from the summit. He can’t be so weak now. 

Red _has_ been weak; he lost his first battle for the Champion’s spot. Green had _won_ and when he won, Lance had begun to give his condolences to Red, presuming, perhaps, that Red would be devastated by the loss, but Red had clapped for Green and jumped, an unspoken _I’m really happy for you,_ and while Red didn’t notice at the time, looking back he realized Green had blushed when he smiled. 

_I really_ am _the greatest in the whole world, huh?_

Red wonders still, wondered then too, why - how - he never got sick of Green’s arrogance. It may have been a sort of manifestation of jealousy, _wish I was that confident, I like that he’s so proud of himself,_ or maybe Green was just charming enough to keep Red complacent. Most likely, it was simply forgivable enough that Red could overlook that cocky attitude on the pretense of having at least _one_ friend. 

It’s not that, though, can’t be. Red never really _wanted_ friends, admittedly. 

Red turns around. He walks toward the tree line. 

He turns around again. Walks away from the world below.

It isn’t really that Red _didn’t_ want friends, but he’d never bothered to seek any out. It always felt like a meaningless endeavor anyway. He doesn’t speak much, hardly at all, and that always did - always has - made reaching out nearly impossible. It was really Green’s idea to befriend _him,_ to talk his ear off for hours about Pokémon and battles and hopes and dreams, and Red would listen along, nod once or twice, and for Green, that was enough. It was enough to be heard. For Red, it was enough to have that company, loud as he may be. 

Green has always been very loud and yet Red has never minded that so much.

_Heeey! Red! Red!!_

Green never greeted Red quietly when they were children. Red doubted he ever _could_ speak softly, admittedly, but it was some years later when Red had died, in a sense, and when Green came to his grave, in a sense, he had greeted Red with this soft _hey, Red,_ gentle enough that his voice didn’t even echo off the cavern walls. He had the capacity to be quiet and just never _was,_ and - and Red had asked - 

_Why were you always so loud when you could be this quiet?_

_Honestly,_ Green had answered, _I'm only being quiet_ here _'cause I figured I'd scare you off if I yelled._

And Red had answered with _you don’t scare me,_ and Green scoffed, and Red tried, failed to say that he didn’t mean it like that. Not _I don’t take you seriously,_ no, he meant _I feel safe with you._

It seemed meaningless to try and say that when Red refused to come home. 

Today, here, now, Red is finally homesick.

Red turns around, walks toward the tree line. The cedars feel taller here than they do when he’s at the mountain’s summit.

Green is his antithesis, Red feels. He’s loud where Red is quiet, brilliant where Red is dull, sharp where Red is soft, nothing if not determined where Red is burnt out, has been for ages. He is unwaveringly _forward_ where Red is unrelenting _still_ , an unstoppable force and an immovable object.

Yet Green - the very thought of Green’s existence, the fact that he _is,_ \- he compels the immovable object further down the mountain.

It _is_ Green who compels him, today like always. Red never wonders why Green holds this power over him because he’s found it to be mutual, more or less. Green has come _up_ Mt Silver for ages, braved blizzards and ice storms for the sake of someone inherently _less_ than he is - and it’s funny because Green has said more or less the same, says he feels lesser than Red, and he’s been saying so for a while despite Red’s quiet protests. 

_Just dropping in to say hi, y’know, make sure you’re not dead. Guess you oughta be fine if you’re that much better than me,_ and he’d always say that while looking back toward the Indigo League, and Red would feel drowned in guilt in that moment, in his involuntary crown, torturous coronation of an unwilling prince. Green was meant for that throne and somehow, somehow… 

Well, it doesn’t matter now. That’s not what matters now. All that matters is this journey and all its closure.

A clearing in the trees shows the world below, giving Red a clear view of the Indigo Plateau, the paths toward Pallet, New Bark, Viridian.

He says nothing when he sends Charizard out. Words are unnecessary.

Red presumes Green to be a magnet, of sorts, or perhaps they both are. If they’re the antithesis of one another, then they are both charged, positive and negative, polar opposites attracting to one another. He wonders sometimes how the poles of the earth aren’t so attracted to each other, how they aren’t so overwhelmed by their need for equilibrium that they’d risk it all to be close to one another.

He presumes it is because the poles are not soulmates in quite the same way.

The poles do not think and perhaps it is due to that logic that magnets are not quite the right analogy; there aren’t enough words to describe that which compels him to Green. Minerals are attracted inorganically, devoid of meaning, and yet the magnetism of two hearts is rooted so intimately in that which is unseen but _felt,_ unforgivably human, indescribable but instinctive all the same. It isn’t Green’s charge that drags Red back down Mt Silver. It is Green’s smile, it’s his voice in all its dramatic intonations, the way he blushes when Red murmurs compliments to him, tender scoldings of _be more careful out there_ and hours of rambling about the Pidgey that came by his gym that day, battles that make Red feel _alive_ and parting hugs that make him feel like he could die happy. 

It is the way that Green feels too perfect to be real. He feels like a dream, the fact that he’d even go so far as to _look_ at Red, the fact that he’d want to _be_ with him - it sounds like some kind of fantasy. It must be a dream and it must mean that Red should wake up and find it all to be an illusion, and yet it is no dream and Red has not woken up yet. 

Red feels, in subtle moments, when he catches Green staring at him out of his peripheral vision, he feels he is content to love and be loved, he is content to see and be seen.

Perhaps, even, he could grow content to exist in a world that outgrew him too fast, too soon. 

The Indigo Plateau passes below him. Even while flying, the wind isn’t so thin and biting at this altitude.

It’s worth it. It has to be worth it. This pilgrimage and its consequences, it’s worth it, if it’s for Green. It is worth ending this manufactured nightmare, this self imposed exile. It’s so easy for Red to think about Green, easy to be around him, so easy to love him and love him unconditionally. Each day feels like a lucid dream when they're together, too good to be true and yet too real to be a fantasy.

Red would like to dream in his waking hours again.

Viridian City comes into view, dancing through a thin layer of clouds. Red’s heart is racing but he will not - cannot - turn back now. The polarity is too strong, he’s pulled nearer despite any hesitation, he feels his heart has started beating for the first time in years, feels he’s found coral growing in the shipwreck of himself, flowers sprouting effortlessly in irradiated soil.

It is perhaps because Red is death where Green is life. Red grabs Green by the hand, tells him to _stop, settle down, take a break, spend a moment with me,_ and just as naturally it’s Green who grabs his hand and says _come on, wake up, keep moving, spend a moment with me._

It was only inevitable that Red would come here. It’s the same way life finds itself thriving again in decay. Inseparable antitheses, immovable object and unstoppable force. The contradictions mean nothing without the presence of each other. 

Red feels he means - does not _want_ to mean - anything without Green. He had taken this journey with merely the intent of staying near Green, while his self-proclaimed _rival_ had enveloped himself in the romanticism of the trainer’s journey, the sublime idealization of victory. Red had only wanted to remain in Green’s eyes, a hue in his sky, a flower in his garden. That’s all he wants.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Red only feels that he is himself, only feels he is _whole,_ if Green is close enough to reach. It’s not even a matter of _always stay right next to me_ but simply a matter of _always come back to me._

Green has come back to Red over and over and _over_ and Red just feels maybe, maybe he’s been unfair. 

He knocks. 

It’s a quiet little _thump_ Red gives to the door, perhaps imperceptible to anything and anyone but himself, but it is a knock, and so he waits for two, five, ten minutes for an answer, and there is none. 

He knocks again.

It’s a louder sound this time. It makes him flinch.

He knocks two more times, loud, rhythmic, impossible to write off as the wind or a Pokémon scuttling around. Footsteps emanate from behind the door and Red can’t tell if his heart has stopped or if it’s beating too fast to feel.

“Hel - ”

Green barely finishes opening the door but his words are lost on the wind. So too are Red’s thoughts.

There’s a hundred, thousand, million things Red wants to say to Green. 

He cannot speak.

_You don’t talk a lot, you know._

_Mm._

_Why are you so quiet? Hey, don’t just shrug at me, I dunno what that means!_

_Nn..._

_Well, whatever. We’re still friends, so it doesn’t really matter, huh? ...aw, don’t look so sad! You don’t need to talk if you don’t wanna. I still like you!_

He does not need to speak. Green still likes him.

It’s a haphazard sort of reunion, it isn’t nearly the photogenic _I’m finally home_ that Green had perhaps hoped for, and Red doesn’t keep his composure even half as well as he’d hoped he would. It’s cramped in the doorway of Green’s apartment but moving any further is unnecessary, this is a welcomed claustrophobia between the walls and between each other’s arms, antithesis to the vast mountain. Closing the door is unnecessary when the breeze is this fair, this late into the season, the evening air is comforting and warm and breathable, antithesis of the mountain’s air. Biting back tears and hiding the urge to hug and hug _tight,_ fighting the need to reaffirm with murmured words the reality of _oh god you’re here, you’re home, you came back,_ that resistance is unnecessary. It is a reunion of overwhelming emotion, something finally _felt_ with neither confusion nor guilt, antithesis to the stunted interactions and swallowed feelings nine thousand meters above sea level.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Voices whisper, hearts scream, they realize how close together the words were said (how close _they_ are), so much so that it’s practically an echo, so silly that somehow even _that_ became an unconscious race.

“What, you really have to one-up me one more time?” Green laughs, and so too does Red; he laughs, cries a little, pulls himself closer to Green. “Doesn’t matter. I’m just happy you’re here.”

Green holds him tighter. Red doesn’t know who said it first - maybe it was Green after all, Green’s always been the kind to beat him to the punch, always the one to take the lead. Maybe it was in unison. It doesn’t really matter to Red who won. He’s won either way because it’s Green saying _I love you_ and he’s saying it to _Red_ and it is _requited._

“You’re really stupid to come down in the middle of a storm, though,” Green murmurs, though he doesn’t even begin to loosen his grip on Red. “Could’ve got yourself hurt.”

“It wasn’t snowing today.”

“Wasn’t snowing.” Green huffs a little, laughs again, cries, holds Red so close it’s hard to breathe and Red feels like he hasn’t taken a single breath in years, not until now. 

_Soulmates;_ two people ideally suited to one another. Red feels its simple definition isn’t enough to explain why Green laughs when he hears it wasn’t snowing and why Red is moved to tears by Green’s laughter. Perhaps soulmates are the intersection of contradiction and compliment, desire and necessity, the intersection of _I feel right with you_ and _the world feels right with you._ _Soulmates_ in the way that an eclipse cannot exist without the union of sun and moon, not its two parts alone but the experience of one another, a feeling, a lifetime.

_Green,_ the sun, and _Red,_ the moon, or maybe the other way around. It doesn’t matter to him who’s what. Neither reason nor logic nor definition nor even understanding, none of it matters. 

It only matters that they are here, intertwined, loved and in love.

**Author's Note:**

>  _ **sobs**_  
>  i have nothing left to say i jsut. brain empty. only nameless now  
> anyway i hope yall had a good ReGuri week! everyone's content has been excellent and very much appreciated i haven't had this much nameless food in _ages_ so congrats and thank you to everyone who made that Sweet Sweet Content  
> i will now pass away, as a treat


End file.
